


Sordid

by neednot



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neednot/pseuds/neednot
Summary: A collection of all of the prompts I've answered for Mulder and Scully over on my Tumblr that are too short to be posted as their own fics. Some of these are explicit.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 62





	1. what you need

**Prompt 71: “Be a good slut, get on all fours, and stop talking or I’ll gag you. And if I have told o that, I know you’ll love it, too.”**

**X-Files Porn Battle**

* * *

She takes off her coat, walks into the small, unremarkable house she and Mulder share, still not convinced sometimes that it really belongs to the two of them together. Their latest case bothers her enough she can feel the physical weight of it, still lingering even though she’s long left the office, taken off her own outerwear.

She sighs and sits down, closes her eyes—just for a moment. Mulder is off somewhere, said he needed a drive, and she allows him that—that time apart that makes living together possible.

When Mulder comes back a few hours later she can still see the tension in the tightness of his shoulders, his set jaw.

They need a release. She needs a release, and they’ve been together long enough now she knows she can ask for one.

She comes up behind him and rests her head on his back, her palms sliding down his chest.

“Long day,” she says, and he nods, and he breathes, and she feels some of the tension leave him, just a little. She kisses his shoulder blade, feels him tense under her, but a different kind of tension.

“I can make it go away… Daddy,” she whispers, and he exhales, but doesn’t turn around. She bites her lip, waiting—she’s only called him that once, but it’s what she needs tonight, to give up control to him, to feel protected. It’s not something she’s ashamed of, but asking for it now makes her feel vulnerable. Weak.

And then he turns around and his eyes are dark with desire and want and she knows then that he feels the same as her, needs the same way she does.

He crushes his mouth to hers and her back presses against the kitchen counter and in one swift movement he lifts her up there, his lips on her neck, then his teeth, and she moans.

“Fuck—Mulder—“

His fingers snake through her hair and pull, her head yanking back, exposing her throat.

“What did you call me?”

A shiver runs through her. This, this is what she wanted.

“I’m sorry—Daddy,” she says, and it comes out in a whisper but she knows he hears her.

“Good girl,” he says, and her breath hitches in her throat. He returns his mouth to her neck, unbuttoning her shirt, his hands unbelievably tender. She moans.

And then his lips leave her skin and the lack of contact makes her shiver, whine.

He grabs her wrist, looks in her eyes for affirmation, and she nods. And then he’s pulling her off the counter and to their bedroom, pushing her face-down onto the bed, his weight on her, his hands at the buckle of her belt.

“Mul—Daddy—”

A smack on her ass through the fabric of her pants.

“You only talk when I say.” He leans closer, his lips by her ear. “You want to be a good slut for me, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and closes her eyes.

God she needs this. This lack of control, this complete and total trust in Mulder—just the thought of it makes her shiver again.

He undoes her belt and pulls her pants down, and she wishes she’d worn something sexier, something more enticing.

But the words “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” leave his mouth, and fuck how can this man make her feel so wanted, so desired, even when she doesn’t feel like it?

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he spanks her again, harder this time.

“What did I just say?”

She just whimpers.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and his hands cup her ass, massaging where he just hit.

She knows she’s wet, now, and she’s aching for him to touch her, squirms a little, trying to get some friction between her clit and the bed. He notices, laughs.

“So eager,” he says. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, and then winces, waiting for the contact because he didn’t say she could talk. But he just laughs again.

“Tell you what,” he says. “Be a good slut for me and get on all fours. Don’t talk again or I’ll gag you. And if I have to do it, I know you’ll love that, too.”

She groans, growing wetter from his words, but she does as he says, crawling up onto the bed, the mattress under her knees, her ass in the air. She hears the sound of his own belt coming undone, and God if she wasn’t trembling before she certainly is now.

He yanks her underwear down and she hears the rip of it and she’s grateful now that he knows it’s a cheap pair. Her breath comes in short pants.

And then he smacks her ass again, harder this time, hard enough to sting and bring tears to her eyes but fuck if it doesn’t make her wetter. He does it again and she yelps, resisting the urge to press her face into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he pants, and she turns her head to see him naked behind her, his face as flushed as she knows hers is. She wriggles her ass a little closer to him, enticing, teasing.

She waits for the sting of his hand again, but it doesn’t come. The beds shifts and then there’s his tongue at her entrance and fuck she almost comes from that alone, firm hard strokes over her cunt, and she’s so close—

He pulls back.

“Not yet,” he says. “You’re not coming until I do.”

She wants to retort, wants to tease him back. Finds herself begging instead.

“Please, please Daddy I need it—“

He yanks her head back again.

“I told you to stop talking. God, you can’t shut up, can you? Smart-ass Scully, always has to have an opinion,” he says, and then his fingers are in her mouth and she’s sucking on them, can faintly taste herself, and then and then he pulls them out, replacing them with the ripped pair of her own underwear.

He leans so he’s eye level with her, and his gaze is so intense she almost shrinks back. But there’s something tender in it, too.

“I’m going to fuck you, since that’s what you want,” he says softly. “But you’re not going to come until I do, understand?”

She nods.

“Good girl,” he says, and kisses her forehead, and the gesture is so unexpectedly intimate, so Mulder, that it almost makes her tear up.

He moves so he’s behind her again and she braces herself for him to enter, for him to fill her, but then his tongue is back on her, tasting her, and she groans because she knows what she’s doing, knows he’s determined to make her almost come. She clamps her teeth down on the dirty pair of her own underwear, feels herself getting closer, closer—

And then he mercifully stops, and she breathes, but then just as quickly he’s inside her and she groans, because he is filling her, tantalizingly slow, teasing.

“God, you’re so wet,” he says. “You’re just so desperate for my cock aren’t you, my little slut?”

She nods, and he pulls back before filling her again, picking up the pace, and she moves against him, matching his thrusts. His hands grip her hips as he begins slamming against her, and she is so close—

“Not yet,” he pants. He fucks her harder, and she whines through the gag because she is going to come so soon if he keeps this up—

“Not. Yet.” He bites out. He slows down, slamming himself into her now, and she can hear how wet she is, how hard he’s fucking her—

“Fuck, Scully,” he breathes, and it’s that that sends her over the edge, her name in his mouth, his cock in her, and she opens her mouth so the gag falls out and yells his name as she comes with him.

After, in his arms, sticky with sweat, nuzzling herself into his neck—“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, kissing her forehead again. “I always know what you need.”


	2. i want you to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask box prompt!

She is about to leave, after having dropped him off at his apartment, fussed over his broken arm, tucked him in like she might a child.

The world didn’t end, but something in her started when he kissed her, awakening something long dormant, feelings she thought she’d forgotten.

“Stay,” he mumbles under the covers, and she chalks it up to sleepiness, the painkillers she gave him.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” she says, but when she pushes out of the bed his fingers gently brush her wrist.

“I want you to stay,” he says, and he looks at her, and his eyes are bright and clear.

“Mulder, I…”

But she finds herself drawn back to his bed, laying down on top of the covers, close but almost not quite touching him, close enough to feel the heat off his body.

Soon she forgets her reasons she should keep her distance and curls her small form against his back, her cheek against his skin, the warmth of him making her drowsy.

“Stay,” he says again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, and she knows she doesn’t mean just tonight, that’s not what he’s asking.

Her lips ghost over his skin and she feels him shiver under her, and she closes her eyes, sighs deeply.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	3. remember you will die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cancerarc angst, originally posted july 2016 (wtf), revised and updated may 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going back and editing my old fic during quarantine and I'm posting it here! Enjoy!

She hasn’t said a word since they got in the car. 

She’s still wearing that white robe that almost looks a size too big for her and he marvels at how small and fragile she looks—is. 

He knows how much she hates to be thought of as fragile, as someone needing protection. How much she prides herself on her strength, not weakness. The “I’m fine” she insists on using after every fucking trauma that happens to her because she doesn’t allow herself to feel them, acknowledge them except late at night when she calls him. 

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says absently, like she’s reading his thoughts, the familiar sentence sending a barb into him. They pull up in front of her apartment building and he resists the urge to help her out of the car.

She pulls the robe tighter around herself and at least lets him unlock the door. Her red hair lays lank, tear tracks still visible on her face from earlier. 

He wants to take care of her. He wants to wrap her up and keep her safe and give her the cure.

But he doesn’t. Not because he doesn’t know how, but because he can’t let himself.

“You should shower,” he says as the walk into her living room, and she turns, a hint of a smirk on her face. 

“You just want to see me naked,” she says, but it lacks the usual bite. Without hesitation, she pulls at the tie of the robe, stands in nothing but her bra and underwear.

He resists the urge to look. She’s already so small, so thin, and if he looks at her now he won’t be able to stop counting the lines of her ribs that he knows will protrude later, won’t stop himself from imagining the prominence of her collarbone, won’t be able to stop himself from seeing her die.

“Mulder,” she says, and he looks. 

She is before him, and she is alive, hands spread by her sides like an offering. 

He turns away. 

“Dammit, Mulder,” she says. “Look at me.” 

He can’t bring himself to. If he looks he will not see her in front him, thin and scared but _alive_, he will only see the fear of her own death on her face.

He feels the warmth of her in front of him, can see her shoulder out of the corner of his eye. 

“Look at me,” she pleads. 

He turns his head and he does. She is staring up at him with those blue eyes and she’s biting her lip in that way that drives him mad. 

“Kiss me,” she says. 

He bends down, kisses her forehead like at the hospital. But when he pulls back she puts her hands on the other side of his face and pulls his lips down to hers. 

He can feel her pressing against him and he tries to hide how much he wants this so he kisses her lightly, tentatively. 

“Mulder,” she says, pulling back. “Mulder, I’m not dying.” She says it fiercely, like she wants to believe it. 

“I know that,” he says. 

“Then kiss me like I’m not,” she says, pressing against him more now, earnestly, her hands traveling down his torso. “Please.” 

“Scully—”

She doesn’t let him finish. Her mouth is on his, hot and insistent, and she’s clutching at him like a lifeline and she’s kissing him like she’s alive but he can’t bring himself to kiss her back, hold her back—

He pulls away first, and she looks at him, hurt in those piercing blue eyes. 

She doesn’t say anything, just turns and picks up her robe and heads to the shower. 

And he—he sits on the couch when she goes and buries his face in his hands and tries to talk himself out of loving a dying woman. 

On the other side of the wall, she tries to talk herself out of loving a man who may outlive her. 

It’s a futile attempt for both of them.


End file.
